Written By The Victors
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Hermux and Linka take a tour of Redwall Abbey. Is this landmark of rodent history really as idyllic as it seems?


Written By The Victors

By Laura Schiller

Crossover: Hermux Tantamoq/Redwall

Copyright: Michael Hoeye and Brian Jacques

"This tapestry, ladies and gentlemen," said the hamster tour guide, gesturing with her candlestick, "Is a depiction of Martin the Warrior, the founder and champion of Redwall Abbey. First created in 1095 A. D., it was stolen a hundred years later by the warlord known as Cluny the Scourge – if you look closely, you'll see the stitches where it was reattached – and recovered at great risk by Matthias, a novice monk believed to be the prophesied reincarnation of Martin himself. The Late Rose Summer Wars were … "

Hermux Tantamoq only listened with half an ear, distracted by the sheer magnificence of his surroundings. They were inside a great stone hall with an arched ceiling, lit by hundreds of candles and smelling of incense. Statues standing in alcoves ringed the hall – saints, champions, former abbots and other historical figures. At the end where the group was standing stood the altar, a high table covered in cloth of gold. Behind it was the tapestry. It showed a larger-than-life brown mouse in a red cloak and medieval armor, leaning on a sword. Surrounding him were his enemies, a stoat in a blue cloak and a snarling wildcat (_evidently they don't have the taboo in Mossflower,_ thought Hermux); and his allies, a ragged squirrel, a mischievous-looking mouse playing a reed flute, and a beautiful lady mouse with a red rose pinned to her gown.

Hermux knew the stories; Martin the Warrior had featured prominently not only in his history class, but also in his childhood daydreams. It was positively thrilling to stand on the same floor where Martin's paws had trod; to see the place where he had gone to recover from the injuries of his last battle, where he had renounced the way of the warrior and dedicated his life to peace. The place where his legacy lived on to this very day.

"Makes you proud to be a mouse, doesn't it?" he whispered to Linka. This vacation was their honeymoon, and although he knew she'd rather take the Skipper's Cruise along the river than immerse herself in historic Abbeys, he appreciated her coming along with him and was resolved to make it as interesting for her as possible.

"A mouse, sure," she said, squinting up at the imposing tapestry with a not-too-impressed expression. "But I wonder what _they_ think of all this?"

She nodded subtly in the direction of a family of brown rats, who were drifting away from the tour group to look at the illuminated chronicle in its glass case.

"They seem to be okay," said Hermux, with a shrug. "Why?"

As they spoke, the tour guide's crisp voice carried on, projected across the hall loudly enough for even the rats to hear.

"Cluny," she continued, leading the group further down the hall, where a different tapestry showed a huge black rat with an eyepatch and an enormous spiked tail, "Invaded Mossflower in 1187 with an army of rats, weasels, ferrets, foxes and stoats. Surnamed 'the Scourge' because of his long, whiplike tail, which he equipped with a poisoned spike during battle, his cunning and cruelty made him feared by his own soldiers as much as his victims. His siege to the Abbey lasted for … "

The youngest rat, a teenager in green cargo pants and a black RoadKill concert T-shirt, accidentally caught Hermux's eye across the room. He was positively glaring – hands jammed into his pockets, long snout wrinkled with disgust – but he obviously meant it for the tour guide, not Hermux, and both of them quickly broke eye contact again. The boy's mother, a petite woman in a blue dress, put a paw on her son's arm as they left the room. They didn't look like vermin, thought Hermux – not that anyone ever used that word nowadays. Still, he had a nasty feeling that many people in this hall had been thinking it.

As the tour guide continued her spiel, Hermux couldn't help but notice all the things she _wasn't_ saying. Where had they come from, these rats, ferrets and other unpopular species? Why had they invaded Redwall Abbey over and over again, after so much defeat and humiliation? Nobody would put themselves through so much suffering from motives of pure evil. It just didn't make sense.

Hermux took one last look at the tapestries, those beautiful tapestries showing all these jolly hares, down-to-earth moles, fearsome-but-honorable badgers and especially brave, noble, dashing mice. All gleefully crushing the evil, ugly, stupid and/or insane enemy under their footpaws. The artwork didn't look quite so impressive anymore.

"Martin and Matthias were heroes," he insisted to Linka in an undertone, even as he decided to look up Cluny the Scourge on his laptop as soon as they got back to the inn.

"From our point of view, they were," Linka pointed out. "But you know what they say about history being written by the victors. Remember the Stepfitchlers? And the cats?"

Hermux sighed. Finding out that the greatest family of inventors and scientists in Pinchester were a bunch of frauds, and that its modern population was descended from a slave race owned by cats, was enough to make anyone doubt the veracity of historical sources. The last thing Hermux wanted was to have the images of Martin and Matthias tarnished as the Stepfitchlers' had been.

"You're right," he said as they dropped a few pounds into the donation box by the door. "It's just … I'd _rather_ keep my childhood role models as they are. It's always such a letdown to lose them.."

Linka nodded and squeezed his paw. "I know what you mean. But really, someone ought to make a study of rat history."

"Maybe Birch could look into it once he's done translating the Cat scrolls."

They had reached the gift shop, which was a lot smaller, brighter and more crowded than the Great Hall. Linka headed for the knickknacks: scented candles, miniature statuettes, mugs decorated with biblical quotes or hymn verses, and postcards of the Abbey looking its best in every season.

"You can worry about it later," she said, holding up a red candle sculpted into the shape of a rose. "D'you think Terfle would like this?"

Hermux's pet ladybug, who did not take kindly to airplanes, had been left behind with Mirrin and Birch and would no doubt appreciate a souvenir.

"Oh, definitely." He sniffed the scented candle cheerfully, trying to get back into the holiday spirit. "All that's missing is a nice handful of plump Mossflower aphids."


End file.
